


The Hardest Words in the World

by lovefrom221bboys



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefrom221bboys/pseuds/lovefrom221bboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times, Sherlock didn't dare to say it, one time he just went for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Words in the World

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I just had to get out of the angst for a while. I've only posted angsty and sad things, so now a super cute and fluffy story. :)  
> I'm also writing another angsty fanfic, but I got a bit stuck and came with this idea. I intend to finish and post the other story, too, though, but I'm not sure when that will be...  
> I had a lot of fun writing this, I love those 5+1 things, I hope you love this one too! :)

The first time the words sprang into Sherlock's head, was on a calm evening. Sherlock and John had just finished a case the previous day and were watching some telly. There was an episode on of some kind of dull and implausible detective series and Sherlock was already bored to death.

He looked sideways at John who seemed to be glued to the screen and watched with undivided attention.

When they'd begun to watch telly the flat had been wrapped in afternoon light, but when the evening had passed, the flat had become dim. John had put on a lamp he could reach from his chair because he didn't want to get up, but that source of light wasn't much, so when Sherlock looked at John, he was mostly envelopped by darkness, faintly illuminated by the yellow light of the lamp and the glow of the television. 

John laughed at a dull joke they made and Sherlock noticed how a smile spontaneously appeared on his own face. 

Suddenly, now he saw John in the dim light of the flat, laughing and little lights sparkling in his dark blue eyes, Sherlock couldn't understand how he'd ever deserved to know someone as wonderful as John Hamish Watson. 

A warm feeling rose up in his chest when he looked at the doctor and before he could think of it he said: 'John...'

He could stop himself just in time, before he was going to mess everything up. What was he thinking? He couldn't just say it out of nowhere, he didn't even know what John's reaction would be. Probably something of disgust and bewilderment, and he would surely leave.

'Yeah...?' John said, absent-minded, his eyes still on the screen. 

Sherlock was unable to look away from John, he was so beautiful in this light.

'Sherlock?' John said, a bit worried now, finally taking his eyes off the television.

Sherlock looked away quickly, back to the telly. He cleared his throat and said: 'It's the gardener.'

Sherlock could see out of the corner of his eye that John looked confused at first, then his eyes darted from the television to Sherlock and back.

'Dammit, Sherlock,' he mumbled. 'What did we agree on you not spoiling every episode.'

Sherlock ignored his comment and was glad he'd been able to find an escape.

***

The next time the words came into Sherlock's mind, was on a not-so-peaceful-afternoon, an it's-been-way-too-long-since-the-last-case kind of day. 

He was pacing through the flat, his robe whirling around him in his dramatic motions. He couldn't stand still and while he moved, he rattled off all kinds of deductions and improper facts about certain people, obviously irritated and bored and, above all, restless.

John was typing a blog entry, two fingers lingering over the keyboard, occasionally pressing on a key. Sherlock stood still for a moment, staring at the only centre of rest in the middle of the room. An amused smile played around John's mouth at the outbursts of Sherlock.

In the sunlight that came from the window, John seemed to be made of gold. He was like a soft sun. And in that moment, Sherlock realised he really _was_ his sun.

Sherlock felt calmer immediately, and he got that peculiar feeling again. 

'John,' he said after a while. When he realised what he'd almost done again, he wanted to punch himself in the face.

John looked up, still that amused expression on his face. Sherlock wanted to kiss that amused expression off and replace it with one of lust and love so badly.

'Did you ever think of taking typing lessons?' he snapped instead, pacing again.

John just chuckled, to Sherlock's relief not offended, and continued.

***

The third time, Sherlock really began to hate himself for his thoughtlessness. He obviously had to begin watching out for what he said when John was around, because since that first evening, the only words that whirled through his mind when John was around, were those three dangerous words. And he absolutely didn't want to make a slip of the tongue.

But he'd forgotten about that for an instant. Well, who could blame him when you knew he also forgot how to breath in that moment?

They were chasing a murderer in 'the sodding rain' like John called it, and they had to hide from him quickly so they didn't get caught. Sherlock impulsively grabbed John's sleeve and crawled under a car, dragging John along.

'Bloody hell,' John cursed, but followed and lay beside the detective. There was not much room for a person, let alone for two full grown men. Their sides touched each other along the entire length. 

It actually wasn't a big deal. But since Sherlock had discovered his feelings for John, he was afraid to betray something when he was too close to John. He couldn't think clear anymore when John was around. 

His breath caught and he felt his skin tingle where he touched John, even though there were layers of fabric between them. 

John's hair was dripping, he was completely wet, and his eyes had a dangerous, threatening shimmering in them. A raindrop slid over his jawline and Sherlock had to use all his willpower to prevent himself from following it with his tongue and licking it away. 

And again, without thinking, he said: 'John, I-' 

He stopped himself right on time. John looked at him, expectantly. Sherlock cleared his throat and tried to recompose himself again. He breathed in and out deeply.

'I think the coast is clear.'

'Let's go then,' John said, a dangerous tinge in his voice, and he came from under the car just in time to be out of hearing distance when Sherlock couldn't keep a quiet groan inside.

It was a good thing that Sherlock had a long coat that hid most of his body.

***

Now, Sherlock was always careful with his words when John was around. He was on his guard as soon as John entered the room, trying to look as nonchalant as possible at the same time. It seemed to work, John appeared to be oblivious.

Lestrade had phoned Sherlock to come and take a look at a crime scene, so there they both stood, Sherlock hunched over a body that was obviously poisoned according to the swollen face and purple lips. John stood a bit further, giving Sherlock the space around the body and waiting patiently until the detective called him.

After a while, he did. John examined the body and told Sherlock his conclusion. 

'Well done, John, you're getting better.' John smiled widely, beaming at the praise.

'Although you got it wrong on basically every aspect,' Sherlock went on, and John's pride vanished like snow in the sun. Sherlock continued by explaining what he'd deduced. 

When Sherlock was done, John looked at him with a disbelieving expression on his face, but his eyes betrayed he was deeply impressed.

'God, you're brilliant,' he said fondly. Sherlock stared at him, still not quite used to the compliments. 

Sherlock couldn't hold it back any longer, he had to tell it, get it off his chest.

'John, I love-' but then Sherlock changed his mind, too afraid of what the consequences might be. 

_Think of something_ , he thought frantically, _anything, don't make him suspicious!_ His mind spun to find an alternative to finish his phrase with fast enough before John noticed.

'Crime scenes,' he blurted out, just in time. 'I really love crime scenes!' He repeated to underline his statement, whereupon he stood and strode away, all whirling coat and chaotic mind, leaving a confused John behind.

'Good for you, Sherlock,' he heard John mutter under his breath when he started to follow the somewhat clumsy detective. Not that John had the faintest idea of this clumsiness because he had no idea of the train of thought of the detective who was undoubtedly and a bit hopelessly in love.

***

Sherlock had to say it. The words were nibbling on his brain, trying to chew a way out. They needed to get out, otherwise Sherlock would lose his mind. 

He just had to shove the fears away, tell John how he felt and deal with the -probably horrible- consequences.

Sherlock sat in his chair while he was debating with himself, long fingers under his chin. But it had been a while since he'd started thinking apparently, because John had come home from work without Sherlock noticing it and was making tea. He was whistling a soft song and Sherlock's mouth turned into a smile.

After a while, John came out of the kitchen and held a mug out to Sherlock. _This is it_ , Sherlock thought, _now or never_.

He looked up at John, eyes locking. John noticed something was off and a worried expression covered his face.

Sherlock took a deep breath, never letting those wonderful dark blue eyes go.

'John, I love you-' _no, not good, I can't, no, no_ '-r jumper,' he quickly proceeded. He smiled briefly, hoping John wouldn't see right through him, took the mug from John and pretended to dive back into his mind palace.

John just stood there for a moment, confused once again. 

'Eh... thank you, Sherlock. I guess,' he mumbled and sat down in his chair to read the newspaper.

And it happened that exactly that day, John had decided to put on his ugliest jumper, at least according to Sherlock, but luckily, John didn't know.

***

Sherlock became a little desperate, he was just too afraid to reveal his feelings. He told himself to just get it over with, but every time he'd collected all his courage and went to look John in the eyes and just tell it, he lost all his bravery and invented something else.

He was a bomb and was on the verge of exploding.

The rain clattered on the windows, just like on the day they crawled under a car, and Sherlock could see in the blink of an eye that John was pissed off because of it. When the doctor stepped in the room, completely sodden, he immediately marched to the shower.

Sherlock wandered hesitantly to the door of the bathroom and opened his mouth to ask if everything was okay and if he needed to do something, but he thought the better of it and went back to lie in the sofa.

It was unbearable to keep it hidden for so long. Especially to keep it hidden from John for so long, because Sherlock told him almost everything and certainly the important things. And this was a _very_ important matter, it had proven to be since it wouldn't go away as he'd initially thought.

Sherlock was still lying in the sofa when John emerged from the bathroom. He heard John's footsteps on the tiles of the kitchen, he heard him opening the fridge and then, every sound disappeared by lack of movements. _John has stopped, but for what reason?_

Then suddenly the fridge was slammed shut and John cursed. He strode to the living room and Sherlock had to swallow hard and had to quickly focus his gaze back on the ceiling when he saw that John had only a towel around his waist and that his hair was still wet from the shower, letting little drops fall on his bare chest.

'You bloody idiot,' John began 'I really have to do _everything_ alone, don't I? I'm the only one who works the whole day long to earn some money, while you're sitting here doing _nothing_ , for God's sake! I bet you didn't even come from your lazy arse all day!'

Sherlock looked surprised at John. Why was he so angry at him, all of a sudden? Sherlock didn't expect this at all and he couldn't deny nor ignore the sting he felt at John's word. He'd mostly sat here while thinking of a way to let John know what he felt.

'I thought you could've at least done the shopping so we would have at least a bit of food, but no! The great Sherlock Holmes just puts some fingers in the fridge!' John went on.

Sherlock stood up, beginning to become a bit irritated, 'cause it had never bothered John before and he hadn't asked Sherlock to do the grocery shopping. Sherlock stepped towards John so they were only two feet away from each other. But John didn't back away from Sherlock's looming figure.

'And then there's something else! You're behaving strange lately.' John seemed to hesitate a little before he went on. 'You... it seems like you're ignoring me, Sherlock,' he said at last, looking up in those pale eyes. His anger was faded, and insecurity -and fear? Sherlock couldn't say for sure- replaced the fury from moments ago.

It took Sherlock completely off-guard. If he hadn't expected John's outburst earlier, he had been certainly not prepared for this confession.

'John,' was the only thing he could say.

But the uncertainty was driving John mad and the anger floated back to the surface bit by bit.

'I just get the feeling you're avoiding me lately. And you always call me as if you want to say something important, but every time you say something sillier than the last time! So just tell me. I don't know what you're so scared of, is it that bad?' 

The anger had come back in every cell of John's body, but there was something else... fear. Now Sherlock could definitely see it.

'John... I...' but now Sherlock needed the words more than ever to come out, they didn't come. They were stuck in his throat.

'Just say it!' John demanded. And when there still came no answer, he sighed exasperated. And Sherlock had become so irritated at the fact that he couldn't say it now, that he, too, lost his temper.

'JUST BLOODY TELL ME YOU WANT ME OUT OF THE FLA-'

'FOR GOD'S SAKE, I LOVE YOU, JOHN!'

They yelled simultaneously.

Time stopped. 

John had stopped mid-sentence. At first he seemed to be completely dumbfounded, then his expression changed.

Sherlock had been holding his breath, and all the air escaped his lungs when he saw John's reaction.

Because what he saw, he'd never expected. Not in a million years.

There appeared a foolish smile around John's lips.

'You... you _love_ me?' He beamed and his eyes sparkled. 'You, Sherlock Holmes, who doesn't care about sentminent?' It was not meant to be insulting, just merely a bit teasing, but even that got lost because John said it way too happy.

'Oh, shut up,' Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, but a wide, fond smile spread across his face. He took a step closer to John, cupped the shorter man's face and kissed him deeply to silence him. He felt John smile against his lips, and then he melted in Sherlock's touch. One hand found its way to dark curls.

Sherlock pushed John against the wall. He moved his mouth from those wonderful lips to John's jawline and neck, long fingers lingering over the bare skin just above the edge of the towel. John moaned softly and he whispered softly in Sherlock's ear: 'I love you too.'

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought of it! You can also drop by on my tumblr: sociopath-with-a-heart ;) and the angsty fic where I'm working on is a drug fic, so if anyone knows a couple of things about drugs and would be so kind as to help me, I would be very grateful and you can always send me a message.


End file.
